


Wrapped Tightly, in Bliss

by Rafira



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternative Timeline, M/M, Not Beta Read, Puppet!Sephiroth, Sefikura, Sefikura Week 2021, master!cloud, puppet, sefikura 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rafira/pseuds/Rafira
Summary: -	Sefikura Week 2021 -  Day 3 – Puppet –More pervasive in the back of his mind, all encompassing, a tender sweep of affection, of meaning, of hope, was him. His master, fingers wrapped tightly in his strings. He was so happy, so eager to follow his master's commands.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46
Collections: Sefikura (Sephiroth/Cloud) Week - Yearly Event





	Wrapped Tightly, in Bliss

_You are… my puppet…._

More pervasive in the back of his mind, all encompassing, a tender sweep of affection, of meaning, of hope, was _him_.

He could feel her annoyance buzzing in the back of his mind. It seemed unimportant. He would follow her orders, sure, but he would drop everything to listen to, to obey _him_. It felt so good. So fucking good, to do what he wanted. To be a good boy. The feeling, when he made him happy or proud, was like full-body tingles all over his mind. Like a hug, like a blowjob (although he felt guilty to even consider that _he_ would ever lower himself to be physical with a puppet like him, a tool, he was lucky that he even cared enough to cast his mind and gaze to his), like the sunshine, warm and bone-deep pleasure soaking into his very core.

But when he saw him again, after such a long, _long_ wait for Hojo to be done tinkering and for the black-haired one to set the wheel into motion, he couldn’t help but feel a bit scared in the back of his mind to see him with that ragtag group of friends, pretending, oh acting so well to be surprised – to be angry at him. He winced, but kept it hidden, inside – after all, it wouldn’t do to spoil his hard work. But still, even in acting he felt the true emotions bubble over, his passion and his pleasure coming out in the twist of his lips, the tilt of his head. He hoped it wasn’t obvious.

He was so kind, to gently caress a reassurance in the back of his mind, that this was all just an act. He wanted to weep, at how kind his master was that he still cast his mind back to a tool such as him, to care about how it made him feel.

And in a way, it was fun. He was good at grandstanding, even if he hated doing it for Shinra, and he was good at posturing, for that was half of a powerful defensive, and he was even better at acting to be what no-one expected him to. After all, he acted human when they thought he was monster, and here he was acting god when he was nothing but a tool.

And so, they danced.

They danced, all across the globe, painting the entire planet with their own glorious history.

What a wonderful dance it was, even if when their blades crashed he found it so, _so_ hard to not concede and give in to his master, for fear of injuring his weaker body, but his master wrapped an ironclad fist inside his mind and forced him to fight like he meant it.

And so, he did.

Their blades clashed, screeched against each other, the sing of quality steel on steel.

The finest dance, the loveliest battle waltz.

The language he knew the best.

He took care, in every one of his strokes, to exude his love, his affections, his deference to his master even as he cut up his arms with fast whipping strikes, ate his casts direct to the torso, and took his confused taunts.

Luckily, his master managed to push him back just enough every time that he could disengage without rousing suspicion. It was, frankly, even more arousing that his master _could_ fight him as an equal, even if his body was weaker than his own. Thank Hojo, even if he had hurt his master, for reinforcing that pathetic human form. He needed to be strong enough to survive what came next.

When they fought, his master occasionally caught his eye, with a secret smile, and just a careful caress in the back of his cranium that let him know that they still had their special connection. That they were still united, no matter what anyone else could see.

And so, he followed the instructions. He stalked them all over the globe, sometimes one step before, sometimes one step after. When he was not, he was still nearby waiting in the wings. Master kept him on a short leash, but he was happy for it. He did not want to be separated. He didn’t want to be alone, any longer. He didn’t want to be separated by these flesh bodies, but they still must, for now.

So, he bided his time, and followed orders loyally. He was good at them. Sit boy, down boy, stay. Shake. Attack. Anything you want.

He was the phantom, haunting the ever-expanding ragtag party. They all had different reasons to stop him. They all followed the cause loyally. They were all utterly and completely tricked, in his clever master’s thrall. So good at acting. So talented. He watched, from afar, as his master cajoled them, comforted them, insulted them, talked them up. They all ate it up, hook, line and sinker.

He wanted to enter the camp. To nuzzle up to his master, as the dark-haired survivor did. To tease him as the young one did. But he waited. His master, ever present, in the back of his mind. Never lonely. Never truly alone, when they were together.

As he watched, and waited, she scratched in the back of his mind, as annoying as nails on chalkboard. She wheedled, cajoled, whined. _So annoying_. She said, _kill._ She said, _take._ She said, _corrupt._

He had done so much of that already. He wanted to do something else, instead. Something that felt warm, that tasted sweet, that held him. He wanted that love, that his master could give him. The best feeling. Even better, somehow, then taking a human life from something struggling futilely to live, even better than forcing an orgasm from someone writhing under him, even better than biting into something that flowed down his face.

He was in love. He had never loved like this. Perhaps everything before had been lust. It all felt so inconsequential.

He was encompassed in a sense of purpose, belonging, and meaning.

He loved his master more than anything. He would do anything for him.

He was so excited at the thought of finally revealing his master’s plans at the Temple of the Ancients, but even as he fatally injured the wutainese Turk his master kept up the façade.

When the temple shrinks into the Black Materia, and his master hands it over to him, Sephiroth feels true euphoria. His master, perched impossibly on the roof of the crystalline structure, giving a gift to his true form. His blue eyes are exactly the same colour as the natural materia which coalescence between them. He is beautiful.

_Thank you_ , he tells him.

Cloud laughs. He hasn’t heard it for so long, maybe never, and it sends shivers down his body at the pleasure his master is feeling. He is so happy, that he is so happy.

_Hmmm, maybe we can have a little bit of time to ourselves? His_ master says, grinning conspiratorially. His teeth are pearly and white, and Sephiroth feels blessed he got to see such a true smile Cloud, after all of his acting.

His heart soars. They can finally be together.

But it is shortlived, as the Avalanche members take Cloud back, away from him, and he lets them for some reason unfathomable to him.

He realizes that they are both obeying Mother’s orders, but he just wants to be with Cloud. Maybe it just feels _better_ , coming from him.

When Cloud asks him to kill the ancient, he obeys without emotion. His masamune pierces her petite form, and their friends all seem to collapse with sadness. Even Cloud wears that mask of sorrow for them.

He does not understand. His friends are dead also – Genesis, Angeal, Zack. They die, but he does not cry. He does not despair. Why would he, when they are all in the lifestream now, that will fuel their new life. They should be happy.

He nods, satisfied. Surely, they can understand what a glorious goal they are helping them achieve. Far more than Gaia-kind would ever achieve on their own.

They do not seem to appreciate him looking so self-satisfied, standing over the collapsed body. The Cetra girl has folded in on herself, like a delicate origami structure. She is even more delicate, somehow, than his master’s form before Hojo augmented him. Frankly, it scares him that his master was ever so weak.

He supposes the pain they are feeling would be similar if he lost his master, and leaves to let them wallow in their despair.

The next few encounters have a different energy. Master is so, so _so happy,_ he is so close, and his happiness bleeds over into Sephiroth’s mind. He is riding high on orgasmic endorphins, so eager to fight, to kill, to monologue as long as required. He is reaching ever higher heights, feeling far less grounded then ever before. He barely needs his shell anymore. He wants to just peel it off sometimes, but he is not sure how he would eventually hold his master without it.

Anticipation builds within him like water against a dam. It’s reaching breaking point, he feels it.

They meet in the northern crater. His master leads the charge. His face is pulled into a serious, hurt expression that bleeds off once he is clear of the others. They can’t see him – this expression, for Sephiroth only. It is an expression of victory. But more importantly, of appreciation _. Of Love._ He wants to cry. It’s time. _Reunion._ He wants to be with you, and only him, for always. Mother is screaming something, but he is not listening. He wants only Cloud.

He reaches out his arms, open.

_Thank you,_ says master.

_Thank you,_ he repeats to his master. He means it, truly, to the bottom of his heart.

Cloud approaches him. He’s ignoring Avalanche, behind them. _Finally,_ he is paying attention to only him. His fingers, his touch, even though a glove. On his cheek. It feels like the lifesteam. Like heaven. Like truth.

_You did so well, my puppet._

_Thank you,_ Sephiroth says again, bowing his head.

He holds his arms out, and Cloud climbs onto them, perching with his back to Sephiroth’s chest. He sits, like Sephiroth is his furniture. His throne. He reaches up, arching his arms to tangle them in Sephiroth’s hair, stretching.

His happiness is palatable, thrumming through their united bodies.

_He is so happy._

_It is time._

Avalanche is so shocked. They are fools. How could they never have seen, that this whole time, Sephiroth had belonged to Cloud? Oh, but of course they didn’t. His master, Cloud, was so clever. Ever since Jenova was implanted in her mind, he had used the connection as his, to reach Sephiroth, to let him know that they were a team, no matter what the woman said. He had his own goals, and all he wanted was to be together forever. They would be. No matter where, no matter how, they were one.

He ignores the screams and the complaints of the other beings on their planet as Meteor comes closer. It will hit, and it will burn, but he will survive. He will protect his master.

His strings are tangled up so deliciously in his master’s fingers, just as his long, silken hair is. It’s perfect. He is the puppet, and he will dance. The waltz, the tango. The two of them, swaying in time, forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so happy to be here and contributing but ive barely had time to read anyone else's entries ):! At least there will be a lot for me to read at the end of the week <3


End file.
